Desiring Another
by At Some Actor's West Side Loft
Summary: An unlikely couple goes to great lengths to attract the attention of the ones they really want to be dancing with at the Yule Ball. Written for the "All Sorts of Love" Mystery Box challenge, with the prompt "spite." One-shot. Reviews are like Hogwarts-magical.


"So, why are you dancing with me, weasel?" Malfoy sniffed contemptuously, searching for the mysterious source of the intoxicating scent of lilacs.

"Same reason you asked me, slime," Ginny whispered through a smile. Her expression suggested she'd just complimented his austere, all black set of dress robes. "Jealousy."

He laughed. "Poor thing, I only asked you out of _pity,_" he drawled. "You looked so pathetic, pining for Potter. Hoping the hero will notice his most devoted fan. And…well, you're a _Weasley_," he grimaced, spitting the name out as if it were Blast Ended Skrewt droppings. "Can't get much worse than that, I imagine."

Her eyelashes fluttered over her brown eyes, brushing the insults and spite out of her face and back at his. "Noticed your eyes haven't stopped twitching about for a good minute now, Malfoy," she replied coolly. "Looking for a certain Muggle-born girl? She's probably off snogging Kr-"

He drew Ginny in closer. To any onlookers, it appeared the two were quite smitten with each other. "I asked you for a dance, Weasley," he hissed in her ear. "Not a stupid conversation."

"Mmhmm," she smirked. She slid away from his arms, then he effortlessly pulled her back in with a spin. "Here, turn round," she instructed.

Refusing to adjust his footing, he protested, "We can't do that-" His ears went pink.

"Why not?"

He mumbled something. She leaned in close. "Speak up, Malfoy."

"It's not proper," he repeated quietly. "Can't just turn around without the right steps…" God, of all the times for mother's ballroom dancing lessons to return to his brain, and in front of some stupid girl who wouldn't even appreciate his insight.

Ginny's cackle of delight was a carbon copy of the twins' laughter when they had discovered Filch was a Squib.

"You know how to properly dance, Malfoy? Taken lessons with mummy and everything, have you?" she sniggered.

"No!" he snapped. Realizing his mistake, he hastily adopted the lofty tone he so loved to use when addressing people beneath him. Happily, in his mind, that distinction encompassed nearly everyone at Hogwarts. "I just…_you _wouldn't have been to a ball before this. _Your_ family doesn't have the social standing or the money to attend such events." He tried to put himself on a pedestal, well above Ginny's insults. Her laughter reduced it to rubble, and his haughty display only swelled her grin.

"Right. Lead on, then, lord of the dance," she implored, trying and failing to address him seriously.

After a few nimbly executed steps, they had switched places on the dance floor. "Better for both of us," Ginny observed, praying that Harry's gaze, which was currently directed at the floor, would levitate upwards and intersect her own. _Why_ he hadn't asked her, Ginny would never know. She'd have been a damn bit more fun that Parvati. They could have talked about Quidditch, and Ginny wouldn't have gotten upset if Harry hadn't wanted to dance too much…

"Yes…" Malfoy answered absentmindedly. Based on her date, Granger liked Quidditch players. He was a Quidditch player. So was Potter, though. A scowl marred Malfoy's fine features. But then…a brighter thought brought out an electric smile. Potter obviously didn't think of her like that, he'd been too daft to even ask her to the ball! His only competition was someone who wouldn't be at Hogwarts in a few months' time…

"I've an idea," Malfoy breathed. "One that will guarantee attention."

"Hmm?" They were swaying softly, their movements dwindling down till they were nearly still, like the ripples in the water after a splash.

"Kiss me," he whispered.

She gasped. "You lose your mind?"

He rolled his eyes, irritated at the youngest Weasley's ignorance. "What? You want his eyes on you or not?"

"Course," she muttered, her flesh flushing the same color as her hair. "Bet you're wanting someone to look at you, too," she accused.

"Well, look at that, you're not as stupid as your brother," Malfoy smirked. He paled when he realized he'd just shared what had been, up to that moment, his most cherished, unspoken secret.

She smiled tightly. "Knew it. Right, then." She was probably crazy, but… "Let's give it a go."

He slowly leaned in as the song lilted to a close. "Never kissed a blood traitor before," he murmured.

"Nor have I ever kissed a smarmy pureblood. Make it good. _If_ you can." She wrapped her hands around his neck and cocked an eyebrow.

His smirk of self assured confidence surfaced when she issued the challenge. "Oh, I intend to, Ms. Weasley." And by Merlin's beard, did he ever fulfill his promise. His soft lips, barely parted, met hers without reservation. Ginny elongated the kiss nicely, chasing their mingled taste of cherries and vanilla. Her slightly more opened mouth imbibed the act with the merest hint of impropriety. They broke it off as silence assaulted their ears.

Hermione spilled pumpkin juice down the front of her dress, but made no effort to clean up the growing stain. Harry stabbed a piece of cake with his knife and tried to feed himself, but instead got frosting on his cheek.

"Mission accomplished?" Ginny whispered.

Malfoy nodded. "Mission accomplished."


End file.
